Widowed at the tender age of 75, this indomitably eccentric British heiress used her late husband's tremendous fortune to purchase and renovate a theater in London during the 1930s, where she staged musical revues featuring -- dare I even say it? -- naked women! The Windmill Theater, which the internet informs me is still around today, was famous for remaining open even amidst the German aerial bombardment during World War II. Between fending off air raids from the Nazis, British soldiers would head to the underground theater to enjoy women in various states of undress performing a nonstop musical routine. Clearly, military life was not without its perks in those days.
The story of the Windmill Theater and the woman behind it has now arrived on film in the form of "Mrs. Henderson Presents," a wheezing period comedy that tries desperately to be clever but ends up falling flat on its face. It is a movie so caught up in the sly ribaldry of its premise that it never really gives a human dimension to the story; Mrs. Henderson and her merry band of showfolk are cast in such broad comic terms that they seem to have stumbled into the film from a sitcom, sans clothing. The cast exemplifies all the worst characteristics of British humor, gliding about full of dry eccentricity and pausing only occasionally to utter meaningless epigrams like, "Isn't that just delicious?"
Mrs. Henderson herself is played by none other than the ubiquitous Judi Dench, in a cheerfully bland performance that is thoroughly undeserving of the Oscar nomination it has recently received. There's no doubt that Dench looks the part of the stately British matron, right down to the poodle perpetually tucked under her arm; she seems to be having a great deal of fun with the role, but I couldn't shake the unpleasant suspicion that there was an unexplored depth to the character that both the actress and the film were too lazy to uncover. At one point we see Mrs. Henderson standing thoughtfully over the grave of her dead son; such a moment bursts with emotional potential, but is glossed over so quickly that any pathos it might have engendered quickly evaporates.
As if to add insult to injury, "Mrs. Henderson Presents" isn't even well- made from a purely technical standpoint; scene transitions are choppily edited, the loud brassy score intrudes on the action, and the digital recreation of war-ravaged London looks remarkably like a digital recreation of war-ravaged London. That the film is a technical failure besides being an artistic one is especially surprising given that the man behind the camera is the great Stephen Frears, who in better times has directed such cinematic triumphs as "Dangerous Liaisons" and "Dirty Pretty Things." Frears is arguably the most talented British director working today, so to say that this is the worst film he has ever made is slightly less damning than it sounds. But only slightly. Talented though he may be, Frears makes the one mistake that a director making a comedy must never make: He forces the laughs down our throats, trying to create a sense of whimsy with the lighthearted touch of a sledgehammer.
Inevitably the realities of World War II begin to intrude on the plot, and, without warning, Frears abruptly forsakes his fluffy tone in an attempt to turn "Mrs. Henderson Presents" into yet another Important Film. The effort is rather painfully obvious, and relies on a few preposterous plot contrivances that struck me as more manipulative than anything else. In the end, the day is improbably saved with a big inspiring speech by Dench herself, a seven-minute filibuster rife with the sort of melodramatic posturing that can be found only in the movies and occasionally on presidential debates.
I was not alive during the glory days of the Windmill Theater. I cannot testify to the accuracy of the film from a historical perspective. But how the filmmakers managed to take a story filled with war, wit and hordes of naked women and turn it into such a dreadful bore is beyond me. One gets the sense that the cast and crew had an almost giddy time filming "Mrs. Henderson Presents"; good for them, but somewhere between the breasts and the bombs they forgot to make a good movie.
